one headlight
by makapedia
Summary: She wonders what it would be like, to have her heart held in his hands, instead. Loyal, dutiful hands. (Friends-with-benefits. Sort of.)


In sleep, Yona finds herself still the princess she'd been at sixteen. Spoiled, needy, perhaps even possessive at times - but in sleep, Yona never finds issue in this. Instead, she seems to be at peace with it, and in the comfortable haze of dreams, she allows herself to bask in this naive bliss. It's harmless, she tells herself, if she lets these things happen in a dream.

A dream is a dream. And it isn't as if she has any real control over them anyway.

She is herself and yet she is not. Her old skirts are pushed up around her hips, and though a part of her frets over it - well, she'd been powerless, in those days, and it's not too invasive, she thinks. Not uncomfortably so. Just different, and if she turns her head to the side and closes her eyes it's easy to pretend nothing is out of the ordinary. The sun peeks through her old windows, jewels twinkling in the light, and she feels a little like she's floating amongst the clouds with filmy way her canopy seems to encase her.

It's like being swaddled. It lulls her. Makes her indifferent to the hands on her waist, pushing, still, into the mattress beneath her. Makes her forget about her place in this world, this fog - Yona closes her eyes and lets it happen, and this is normal for her. For barely sixteen, this is normal. This is what she wants.

She wants this gentleness, this possessiveness, this tickle of Soo-Won's hair around her face. Haloed around her, golden and pure, and- oh, she peeks at him through her lashes, as he presses his forehead to hers and something in her throat pinches, uncomfortably so. But it shouldn't. Why would it? This is what she wants. This is what she's _always_ wanted. She is sixteen and in love. She is sixteen and a woman, and this - _him_ \- is what she's always dreamed of.

He kisses her as if he's afraid she might break beneath him. His lips are soft and warm, and Yona closes her eyes again in order to allow herself to truly bask in his love. The yearning hurts, and her chest _aches,_ unbearably so, so she reaches for him, tugs him down to her, and though she's still bare from the waist down Yona still links her ankles around the small of his back. _Love me,_ she thinks, _love me, love me, please, love me._

"_Yona,_" he sighs, sinking into her.

It doesn't hurt the way it should. It's slick, and _she's _slick, warm and welcoming and full, finally. She doesn't realize she's crying until Soo-Won's wiping the tears from her eyes and kissing her cheeks, and the yearning in her chest balloons, impossibly so, until it's all consuming, and all she can think of is _please don't leave me, please don't do it, stay and let this happiness last forever. _

But the words don't come out. Perhaps a princess is meant to be seen and not heard. Isn't this what she's always wanted? Even as she shakes and cries, even as the sun sets and moon rises in its place - isn't this what she's always wanted? To be his?

It doesn't hurt the way it should.

He moves with great care, plausible gingerness, but Yona can't see much of anything anymore through her tears. When she breathes in she chokes on a sob and trembles beneath him, as he touches her less gently, now. Those kind eyes glint like steel, and being in his embrace is like being gutted alive, and, _and -_

.

She cries when she wakes, too.

The dead of night is quiet, uncomfortably so, and Yona presses her palm over her mouth as she stifles the sounds of her breathing. It's hard keeping it to herself, and she rolls over and presses her face into the pillow in hopes of just suffocating and crushing this unbearable guilt that's caught in her chest.

Part of her wishes he _had_ gutted her alive, just so she could breathe again without this shame strangling her. Wishes he'd just killed her when he had the chance, so that she wouldn't have to keep living like this, harboring these inappropriate, nostalgic _feelings._ Feelings that she doesn't even really have, not anymore. Fugitive Yona, disgraced, discarded princess of Kouka, doesn't harbor those affections for the current king anymore. When she sits and thinks about him, nothing flutters in her chest, unbidden and girlish.

It's the exact opposite, actually. To allow him to close to her, in such a vulnerable state, again - well, it'd be foolish. And not a choice she'd make anymore.

But it'd still happened in a dream. Somewhere in her heart there must still be a part of her that refuses to let him go. _The past is the past,_ she tells herself, hiccuping on the sob still tangled up in her chest, blended up with all of that guilt and disgust, and to dwell on that and still dream about it…!

She is the worst and can't cry quietly. Yona at eighteen still can't seem to keep things to herself, and selfishly cries like a child after a nightmare, and it rouses Hak from sleep almost like clockwork.

"Princess?" he asks, voice rough with sleep, and all at once, she realizes that the residual arousal from her nightmare hasn't quite diminished yet.

It makes her feel dirty. She is the worst. Hak is Hak, and to allow these feelings to mingle so quickly with the sound of his voice, moments after she'd been dreaming of allowing Soo-Won to make love to her is despicable.

"Princess," he says again, shifting, now, as she cries harder and pulls their blanket over her head. "Hey. _Hey._"

Hak is Hak. He isn't somebody she can just touch with dirtied hands, isn't someone she can just embrace with a sullied heart.

But she's still _affected,_ and when she squirms and tries to press her legs together, as if trying to squeeze the wound Soo-Won had gouged into her shut, Hak rests his hand on her shoulder. And he's _warm,_ she thinks, and his hand is so big, and she needs to _shut it down._

"I'm sorry," she says, damply, still trying to curl in on herself. "Please go back to sleep."

He shuffles again, sitting now, and rolls her onto her back with ease. And from this angle, looking up at him, Yona can't stomach the guilt, and she cries openly, brashly, hands tangled up in the blanket, now. It grounds her. Keeps her from reaching out for him and ensnare him further in her mess.

How easy it'd been to fall back into her old habits. She'd been so ignorant then, and even now, to still think he'd cared for her enough to treat her with truly gentle hands - as if her happiness had ever been a point of importance for him. As if her happiness had ever actually mattered in his grand scheme of things. And yet she'd still wanted him, and some part of her still missed him, and maybe even still wanted him, even now, and _god,_ she could be sick.

Perhaps she is sick. Lovesick. Sick in the head.

"Was it a nightmare?" Hak asks, finally, leaning over her. He presses a hand to her forehead and it's outrageous how simultaneously comforting and bone-melting it is all at once. "Princess."

She must not lean into his touch anymore than she already has. She must not allow him to get involved. "Don't... " Yona takes a deep breath. "Don't worry about it. I'm sorry."

He narrows his eyes at her. And goodness. It's hard to think of anything when he's looking at her like that, _observing_ her, as if she is the only important thing in the world. As if the rain that's begun to fall outside doesn't run the risk of flooding their tent. As if staying up fretting over her won't exhaust him tomorrow night, when it's his turn to take watch.

His hand slips from her forehead to instead press against her cheek. This time she does lean into it, unable to help herself from basking in his comfort. There is something serene about this, about him, and though she still feels dirty and deceitful, allowing Hak to continue worrying about her will only worsen the feeling. For now, the answer just might be to play dumb and let him think it was just that - a nightmare.

"... Sorry," she says, again, closing her eyes. His palm is so warm, and he brushes his thumb over her cheek as he cups her jaw. "It was just a bad dream."

He makes a soft sighing noise. "Must've been a pretty bad dream."

"... Yes."

"Did you want to talk about it?"

Yona can't think of anything she wants to do less. "I don't think that would help very much."

Hak shifts his weight. Settles, reaching around her, and lifts her with such terrifying ease that it sort of… douses the knot in her chest with gasoline and sets it ablaze. She squirms, trying to resist, but soon she's pressed to his chest in what she thinks must be an attempt to comfort her, but instead her face is squished against his bare chest.

There's still the rigid, rough raise of a scar there, smothered beneath the flush of her cheek. His skin is almost sweltering, maddeningly warm against hers, and it's far too much, to be this close to him, so shortly after a dream like that. Her heart can't take it.

"_Hak,_" she squeaks. "Hak, I, um, w-wait-"

He doesn't say anything for a long moment. Yona makes the mistake of allowing herself to bask in his embrace, and though the tent sways in the summer breeze, it's still about a thousand degrees too warm for her comfort. She can't make sense of left or right anymore - there is only the haunting aftereffects of the dreams of yesteryear and Hak's arms, so strong and capable, and his heartbeat, steady against her.

"... If talking about it won't help," he says finally, gradually, "I thought a hug might."

Unusually gentle of him. Yona sniffles and tries not to smudge her snot all over his naked chest. "Where did your shirt go?"

He hums noncommittally. "It's hot in here."

"So you _stripped?_"

There's a chuff, but he doesn't push her away. Instead, he presses his lips to her sweaty bangs and says, "My apologies, Princess."

What is she supposed to do? Send him away? Hak is all that she truly has. The only person she has left that knows her, the real her - the selfish, spoiled Princess Yona, who'd wanted their best friend so badly she'd nearly allowed herself to become blind to the world around her. Hak had seen it all and still chose to stay.

And yet here she is, dreaming of a simpler time, when she'd been young and stupid and _lovesick._ As if she hadn't opened her eyes and faced the harsh light of day already.

.

But he's not _hers_.

She has no real ownership over him, not anymore. Hak had served under her father during his time at the castle, and had only stuck so close to her side really because of duty, surely, but - but he's not hers, not exactly. He'd been one of her father's men, a royal guard. _Her_ royal guard, but only because she'd been the king's daughter. Only because she'd been Princess Yona.

These sorts of things shouldn't be left up to duty, she thinks. To be loyal to one's job, or to be loyal to one's charge - well, it's respectable. And Hak had taken his job very seriously. More seriously than she thinks she'd ever seen that lazy wind tribe boy from her childhood take anything. And she'd respected him for it, even if he'd been insufferable at times, and really not cute at all - Hak had been good at his job. And he'd clearly taken pride in it.

But duty wasn't the same thing. And really, the longer Yona sits and thinks about it, the less she likes feeling like she owns him anyway. It's a precarious, frustrating thing, to want someone, while also wrestling with not wanting to own someone. It's a difficult thing to put into words. Can she want him without feeling guilty over it? Can she want him, really, without their history haunting her?

She's selfish. She's always been selfish. For so long, she'd lived with her head up in the clouds, clueless to the world around her. Clueless to Soo-Won's feelings, clueless to the plight of her kingdom's people, clueless to her father's rule. It's embarrassing, and frustrating, the longer it sits with her, and Yona half considers dipping her head into Yoon's pot of soup and just boiling her face away with her stupid feelings.

She just wants Hak to be hers without the obligation that comes with it. Yes, he was her bodyguard for years, and yes, he still sort of is, even without her father around to enforce it, but - but that doesn't mean she gets to do as she pleases with his body.

Her face burns the same shade as her hair. Yona scrubs at her face and hates herself that much more.

Hak deserves better than an unresolved heart. Better than a half-empty girl. And there are bigger things to worry about, Yona thinks, than dreams or boys or anything in between. Not while there is a war to fight. Not while there is hell to pay.

.

It's impossible to avoid him for very long, though.

He is but her faithful sidekick. Her right hand man, through thick and thin, falls into step with her without much effort on his part at all. It's like he's magnetized to her, or maybe she's magnetized to him, and Yona can't be alone with her thoughts for even a second these days without Hak's watchful eyes keeping tabs on her from behind.

"Princess," he says with words. He says more with his eyes. He always does.

She wonders if he can read her guilt. Wonders if it's written on her face, like a road-map to trauma and betrayal. Wonders, too, if she's still the same child she'd been two years ago, and if she still can't seem to keep her feelings to herself. What a terrible fate, to wear her heart on her sleeve.

Yona swallows and tries to quell her nerves. "Hello, Hak."

"It's my turn to keep watch tonight," he says, unblinking. "You should be getting to sleep soon."

The campfire's already begun to burn out. She can smell the last breath of pine, smoldering still, nothing more than a wispy gray tendril of smoke in the dark of night.

A sigh. "I'm not tired," she lies.

"You kept yawning all through dinner." Hak watches her, still, and Yona tries her best to keep her expression neutral. "Have the nightmares been keeping you up?"

It's just about the last thing she wants to talk about with him. It's annoying. Conversation with Hak has never been this difficult before; he's her touchstone, these days, and even before, he'd been something like her best friend, even if he'd been her only friend in the castle. Best and only, she supposes. It makes her a little sad.

Yona shakes her head. "No."

"Princess."

She hates how easy she is to read. Yona wishes she could be more like him. Wishes she could lock things behind the flutter of her eyes and compartmentalize. Wishes she could carry her demons without wearing them so blatantly on her face. How much easier her life would be, she thinks, if she could just bury them the way he has.

Maybe that's not true. It's not like Hak doesn't have his fair share of nightmares. Even he can't scream silently.

"Don't worry about it," she says instead.

"It's my job to worry about it."

She knows that. It's the entire reason why she can't put this on him. It's her problem, and why can't that just be that? "I wish you'd let me spare you sometimes," she mumbles, standing, brushing the grass from her skirt.

He looks to her, just as carefully measured as he'd been before.

"And I wish you wouldn't take your job so seriously," she says, perhaps too honestly. He's broader than ever, this impossible, brave man, and it breaks her heart, how naturally he turns to her. How instinctual it is for him, to guard her from the chill of the night breeze. "There are some things you can't protect me from, you know."

The sadness in his eyes is unmaskable now. "You don't trust me?"

"No," she says, a little choked up. "I trust you. But there are some things you can't fix for me. Not without hurting yourself, too."

He has this way of looking at her that makes her feel naked. When Hak looks at her, it's like he's looking at all of her, all at once. Nothing goes unnoticed - and she knows it must come from years of protecting her, watching over her, like the faithful guard dog he is - but there's still a part of her that can't help but compare it to the way Soo-Won had looked at her. And it makes her sick, the longer she dwells on it.

But she can't just _not _dwell on it. How can she ever hope to get over this if she doesn't at least try to process through it? Had Soo-Won ever really looked at her? Sometimes, it feels like he'd looked through her, like he'd always had his sights set on the future and never on the present - and Yona had just been a roadblock in his way. Just a stepping stone. Part of a bigger picture.

There's an unshakable ache in her chest. It sinks lower, and she cries, because she is just as emotional at eighteen as she'd been at fifteen, sixteen, even seventeen - but she doesn't think it's weakness, not necessarily. There's too much to mourn for her to be suffocating herself anymore.

She has to get over this. If not for herself, then for Hak's sake.

"Princess," he tries again, and then he's reaching out to touch her, gentle, even with callouses on his fingers.

She wonders what it would be like, to have her heart held in his hands, instead. Rough, worn hands. Battle ready hands.

Loyal, dutiful hands.

Selfish. Yona's always been selfish. She shakes her head and brushes his hand away, not unkindly, but certainly surely, and Hak doesn't hesitate to give way to her wishes. Of all the king's men, Hak's the only one who'd taken his duties quite so seriously, she thinks, and wonders what it'd been about her that'd made him stay.

"You can go," she says, very quietly.

It's dark, but she can still see his expression, clear as day. He blinks, giving nothing else away. "... Go?"

"If this is too much, or if I'm too much," she confesses, feeling tiny and stupid and insecure, "because I don't- I don't want you to be here out of obligation. I know it's not easy, throwing your life away just to protect me, a-and I have the dragons now, so- so if you really want to go back home you can, you know."

He doesn't blink now.

Neither does she. "... You can go home. I don't own you, Hak."

_I shouldn't own you, _she thinks. It's not right. It's not healthy.

Starlight is so bright in his eyes. They're so dark, but there's mysterious depths to be discovered there, right down to the pit of his selfless soul. The flutter of his inky lashes make her heart jump into her throat, and Hak shifts his weight, bowing his head to her, instead of turning and walking away like she'd hoped he might.

"And what if I want to be owned," he asks, and there's a peculiar grit to his voice, a rawness that hadn't been there before.

She could choke on her stupid, swollen heart. "Hak."

"I told you before," Hak says, and then he's kneeling before her, and her heart might just burst in her throat. "Use me as your tool. I'm yours to do with as you like."

It's not fair. To him or to her. How can she ever grow, if she knows she can always fall back into her old ways, using him as a pick me up? He can't know what he's asking. Or what he's promising. "I don't own you," she says again, tearfully, heartbeat so heavy it nearly knocks her off of her feet.

"You've always owned me," he says, head bowed. Takes her hand and presses his lips to the back of her palm.

He'll paralyze her. Single handedly. Like slow motion, Yona feels her bones shift into place, feels her knees tremble as she takes his jaw into her hands and tilts his face up. And ah, there he is, her stupid, selfless bodyguard, looking at her as if she's still worth something, still worth holding up on a pedestal. As if Soo-Won hadn't buried her castle years ago.

As if Soo-Won hadn't been soiling her dreams for weeks now.

"... It's your night to keep watch," she says, with trembling hands cupping his face. "Hak."

He's much too serene, to be on one knee before a disgraced princess. His duty will burn her alive. "Yes?"

"... Tomorrow night," she says, in a voice that is not her own. Far too regal, for a girl who has never earned the right to sit upon a throne, for a girl whose head no longer wears a crown. "In my tent."

But he is still a soldier, even after all of this time. Relents and obeys her command, even if it's unreasonable, and Yona hates herself for the thundering of her heart as she retreats. Sleeping is near impossible, when all she can think about is the way he'd looked at her, how he still looks at her, how he'll look at her tomorrow night, as she shatters the image he's surely built up in his head of her.

.

She vows to stop comparing them in her head. It's not fair to Hak to hold him up against such an impossible, violent light.

Yona sits on her knees and waits for him patiently. If he decides not to show up, she won't hold it against him - she'd tried to set him free, after all. She'd given him an out. If he chooses to instead take agency over himself and not offer himself up as her tool, well, good for him. It would be the wise choice, really. And out of the two of them, it's Hak who thinks with his head. She's the one who makes all of her decisions with her heart - and look where that's gotten her.

Still. Nerves burn away at her. She feels like her heart might leap out of her chest and rocket out of the tent. Yona hadn't been able to focus during sparring with Shin-Ah, and Yoon had been beside himself with worry when she had given half of her dinner to Ao instead of scarfing it down like the rest of their group.

The tent door flutters. The shadow is too big to belong to anyone else.

Yona's mouth presses shut and traps her heart inside.

.

He doesn't ask for an explanation.

For a long while he sits there and watches her collect her bravery, just as he always does. He expects nothing, only whatever answer she'll offer him - and he gets it, just not in the way he's expecting.

Yona closes the distance between them. Even in the dark, she can find his face, and his hair is soft in her hands - but his mouth is softer, and the sound he makes sets the barely contained inferno within her ablaze.

He is more than a tool. She reminds herself of it at least twice, as she maps the plains of his chest with shaking hands. He's Hak, her best friend, her bodyguard, and she doesn't own him, but his mouth is warm and surprisingly pliant, and he allows her to kiss him without cracking any jokes. For his part, he doesn't say much at all, only leans down so that she might reach him better, and hooks an arm around the small of her back in order to pull her close.

"This is what you want?" he asks when she breaks away to catch her breath.

His mouth is distracting. She wants to bite his lip. Wants to know what it's like to be seen by someone and loved by someone so completely, and wants, more than anything else, to feel safe in that.

"Yes," she says. _Yes. _

The arm around her tightens, and then she's lowered to the bedspread, far too gingerly for her heart to take. He doesn't touch her the way she thought he might - Hak's not nearly as rough with her as his appearance might suggest - and despite years of teasing, he handles her with hands that are just as careful as she dreamed Soo-Won's might've been.

_She can't compare them._ Yona takes his face more firmly into her hands and kisses him soundly. There's been too much thinking. She's not doing this to think.

There's no time for gentleness. She can't allow such easy comparisons to crop up. Yona takes matters into her own hands and touches him, eagerly, desperately. His chest is hard and solid beneath her hands, and she follows the path down his abs to his hips, his groin. He's hard there, too, and she relishes in the sounds he makes, strangled and surprised - tight, short huffs of breath that leave her feeling warm.

His sash is undone in a moment. Her hand's down his pants in the next. Hak garbles her title and balls up his hands around her head and hovers, shielding her, even now, as she strokes him. He's hot and heavy in her hands, and bigger than she'd anticipated, but still - still, this will do.

This is Hak. This will do.

"Tell me what you want," he manages, gutturally.

This. Yona bites on the lobe of his ear and basks in the way he trembles, in the reaction she draws out of him. Hak, unflappable Hak, putty beneath her hands. Hak, allowing her to touch him like this.

Hak, thrusting slowly but surely into her hands.

"Princess," he says through his teeth.

She's on fire. She's everything at once. Yona rubs her thighs together and wonders if it can always be like this, if this - _sex_ \- can always leave her feeling empowered and in control of her life. "I want you to feel good," she admits, rubbing her hands all over, brushing her thumb over the tip.

Hak very nearly falls apart at that. His arms shake around her and he practically crumbles, pressing his forehead to the ground beside her as he sucks in a long, tortured breath. "Princess."

"I don't want you to be just a tool," she says, and her bravery is a double-edged sword - for as powerful as it makes her feel, for all of the courage it inspires in her, it also makes her reckless.

"That's not-"

"I don't want to own you," she insists, still, pumping him in her hand. Stares above her and wonders what it might be like to dig her nails into his sweating back, to rut herself against him until she came undone, too. Wonders what it would be like if they lived a normal life, and she didn't feel the need to use him as a means to get over her romantic hangups.

He deserves better.

"You've always owned me," he grunts, moving in time with her. His hips are powerful and his arms strong but he never once makes her feel overwhelmed or small. It's a delicate, confusing balance that he maintains, somehow, and it makes her head spin the longer she dwells on it.

"But you're not a thing to be owned," she says, even as she takes ownership over him. Even as she works her hardest to brand him with her heart, hoping that maybe if she does this for him he'll think of her, too, the way she can't seem to stop thinking about him.

There is being wanted and then there's being _wanted_, and Yona can't seem to chase these monsters out from under her bed.

He is not a thing to be owned. He's Hak. He's _Hak, _the same boy who'd napped in corners of the castle and thrown snowballs at her and called her spoiled and tugged her hair. He's Hak, the same boy who'd dropped everything to run away with her, even when the rest of the world hadn't been on her side. It's not the same for him, she reminds herself, as she presses a soft kiss to the side of his face - what motivates him isn't this nostalgic tie, this ugly, mangled knot in his chest - it's duty. And she doesn't know how to move on from that.

How can she, if he won't let her set him free?

But she still contradicts herself, in her selfish, demanding way, unable to help herself - because it feels _good,_ this power, this control over herself and her surroundings, and Yona loses herself in it. His hips are mesmerizing, and she wants to to melt into him, wants her breath to tangle with his and _stop thinking,_ just for once.

.

It's not unlike being gutted alive.

But Hak doesn't use steel, doesn't use the same sword that'd cut clean through her father. It's much gentler, the way he reaches into her chest and takes her heart into his hands, with solemn, devoted eyes and steady hands. There're no jokes, no poking fun at her skinny hips and small chest, no jibes about her lack of sex appeal - Yona supposes it'd be a lie anyway, judging by the way he takes her face into his hands and kisses her, as if he's never been more sure about anything in his life.

It's practically marital coitus. His hands cup her face, stroke her jaw, and each time he kisses her it's slow and sweet, as if he thinks he can mend this brokenness in her simply by treating her like the celebrated princess she'd once been.

"Is this what you want," he asks again, mouth pressed to her neck. There's a hand between her legs, and she's still fully dressed, for goodness sake.

She's not made of glass. And she's not the same girl she'd been those years ago, with ribbons in her hair and hearts in her eyes. Doesn't he know gouging her heart out with something blunt hurts twice as much as a sharp edge?

"It doesn't matter what I want anymore," she mutters, hips undulating. His fingers are steady but shy, and just once, she wishes he'd touch her for himself.

As it stands, Yona can't seem to multitask, and her hands grip his hips instead of tugging and pawing at his shaft. If only he'd use her for once, she thinks heatedly, palms dragging up the impressive plains of his chest.

Hak presses his mouth to the crook of her neck. Fingers her slowly, gradually, and Yona might actually cry, at the sweetness of his ministrations. "It always matters to me," he says, very quietly, as if he's afraid his voice might shatter the moment. "Always, Princess."

She will cry. Yona squeezes her eyes shut and wills herself to just lose herself in this, to feel nothing but the way Hak wants to make her feel - it's not wrong to want to feel wanted, and even if this devotion in him is born from duty, it's still more than she deserves anyway. It's still more than what Soo-Won had ever been willing to offer her.

Selfish. She's so _selfish._

"Always," he says again, sinking lower. He kisses her wrist. Her trembling thigh. Yona's chest is wide open, heart beared to the dark of this summer night, and when Hak kisses her again, just as slow and sweet as before, she swears her heart just stops.

She jams her fingers over her mouth to keep herself from sobbing aloud. Uses her other hand to tangle herself in his hair and find him in the dark. It's soft between her fingers, and shorter than Soo-Won's had ever been, and Hak's jaw is even a bit scratchy against the delicate skin of her inner thighs - but his tongue is warm and sure, and Yona's guilt might just drown her alive.

It's like fighting to keep afloat. Yona can't resist the pull of the tide, and she's plunged beneath the surface, struggling for breath. Legs shaking, flailing, back arching, and - and Hak's right there, still, one hand cradling her hip, the other on her thigh, and the dig of his nails is almost possessive.

It's his only edge. She wishes he'd dig them deeper, Wishes he'd leave his mark on her. New scars to cover the older ones.

What a brand it would be, to wear something of Hak's instead. She wonders if it would make her fuller, more complete. Wonders if she'd like herself any more, with marks from Hak's teeth marring her skin, instead of the inky darkness Soo-Won had drenched her heart in.

(She can't compare them. It's not fair. Not _right._)

He's over her in a second, practically licking her wounds. Warm kisses, down the length of her bare legs. Affectionate presses of his lips to her wrist, her neck, her cheek.

"You're crying," he mutters into her tangled hair.

So she is. Yona blinks at the roof of her tent and wonders how she'll ever come back from this. Perhaps it'd be easier to bleed it out, to finally drain herself of these contradictions that've knotted themselves up in her. It's unbecoming of a princess to be sexually frustrated - but then again, she's not much of a princess anymore. It's hard to be one, without a throne to sit upon, without people to lead.

Not that she'd ever done that to begin with. Perhaps she'd never truly been much of a princess to begin with.

"You deserve better," Yona says, eyes shut. It's unwise to willingly blind herself, but it's cruel to rope Hak into her heartache, and if this is rock bottom, she thinks she might as well protect what's left of her heart.

He brushes her hair back from her face. His thumb lingers on the apple of her cheek, and he's never touched her like this before, never so casually. Even if he'd touched her more after they'd fled the castle than he had before, still, it'd never been like this - like he's afraid she might break beneath him. Like he's holding something tiny and precious in his hands.

"Princess," he starts.

"I still dream about him, you know," she whispers, clutching the robe that hangs off of his arms between her fingers. "It's like - I don't know how to- I can't escape him. Everytime I close my eyes I'm fifteen again and I let him touch me. I _let _him."

That thumb still brushes strands of red from her eyes. Brushes the tears from her blushing cheek.

But he doesn't say anything. She wishes he would. Wishes he'd scold her, or be revolted, rightfully so, at her foolishness. "You deserve better than someone who can't make up her mind," she continues, shaking, chest sinking, still clinging to him, even through it all. "I don't want to be that girl ever again."

Hak's lips press to her jaw. He's still hard against her hip.

"... I'm using you," she admits, terribly, fearfully. "I want to forget the way he made me feel, a-and you- you're just-"

"I'm yours," he reminds her, and his fingers are combing through her hair now, more reverently than she deserves. "Through thick and thin, I'm yours - and I don't care what you're using me for. I'm your tool."

Deplorable. Yona hates the way it makes her heart race. Hates even more how she can't push him away.

Yona sits upon the only throne she has left and looks down upon her loyal subject. Hak's hair is dark against her pillowcase, but his stare is even darker, his eyes so deep and blue that Yona thinks she could probably drown in them. It's easy, to allow herself to indulge in this, to let loose and _use him_, to grind against him and pretend like she is still somebody regal and proud. Like this is the life she has always lived - Princess Yona, red dragon reincarnated, and Hak has always been her touchstone.

She wills herself to face it head on. Keeps her eyes open and watches the way his brows crinkle, the way his chest heaves. Yona maps out his scars and muscles with trembling hands and pretends like this is sweet, like this is right.

With shaking hands, she undoes the ties of his pants, works on tugging them down over his sturdy hips. God, it's like he's been carved from stone; every bit of him is chiseled and deliberate, hard edges and sharp v's and muscle, so much muscle. It's not anything she'd daydreamed about in the castle, even though he's been this way for as long as she can remember - there'd been summer days where she'd watched sweat drip down between his shoulder blades while he trained and had thought nothing of it.

Now she can't stop thinking about it. Her mouth feels dry. She wants to drag her tongue down over the sharp rise of his hip bones. It's consuming, in a way attraction has never been before, and Yona can't understand it, why it's happening now, why when she closes her eyes she still sees blonde hair and saccharine smiles.

Maybe if she tries hard enough she'll forget the way Soo-Won had looked at her. The way dream Soo-Won touched her. The way it'd felt when he… _oh_.

She'd expected Hak to be big. She hadn't expected it to feel like _this_. There's no _resistance,_ and he fills her to the brim, and- and she feels full and content and whole and oh. Oh.

Hak croons her name and throws his head back. If it wasn't for the hands clutching her hips, Yona might think she'd finally killed him. But it's impossible to mistake the dig of his fingers for rest; she practically pants, palms flat on his stomach, staring down at him with wide, burning eyes. It's all new, this path she's walking down with him, and his skin is so warm beneath her, and when Yona rolls her hips it's _good,_ all at once. Better than she'd ever dreamed it could be.

Every time she moves he reacts. When she rolls her hips again he throbs, and she can feel it, deep inside of her. The connection both fascinates and terrifies her.

She wants more. Yona takes her crown, buries it in her mane of curls and wonders if begging for forgiveness will ever be enough. Wonders, too, as she reaches between them and rubs her clit, if there'll be any coming back from this, and if she'll ever be able to look Hak in the face without remembering the way he looks when he comes.


End file.
